"No land in sight," he reported.
The shoal proved to be a good fishing-ground, for, before the short tropical dusk had given place to night, a dozen fair-sized fish, somewhat resembling the herring of northern waters, had been hauled into the boat.
"What is the use of them after all?" inquired Olive. "We can't cook them, and raw fish are uneatable."
"Unpalatable, Miss Baird," corrected Peter. "It is just likely that we shall have to eat them. To-morrow we'll try curing them in the sun."
"Couldn't we fry them over the lamp?" asked the girl, who obviously had not taken kindly to the suggestion that the fish should be sun-cured. She was extremely practical on most points, but she drew the line at dried but otherwise raw herrings.
"You might try cooking for yourself, Miss Baird," said Peter dubiously. "You see, we have to economize in oil almost as much as with water; but I think we can stretch a point in your favour."
"In that case I'd rather not," rejoined the girl decidedly. "It wouldn't be fair to the rest, and there's the oil to be taken into consideration. I hadn't thought of that."
Having caught sufficient fish for their needs, the anglers hauled in their lines and stowed them away. Peter then shared out half a biscuit apiece and a small quantity of water. This time Mrs. Shallop was not too proud to accept the meagre fare. She ate her portion of biscuit, and even suggested to her companion that if Olive had more than she wanted she could give it to her.
Watches were then set for the night, Mahmed and one of the lascars taking from eight till two, and Peter and the other lascar from two till eight; the time being determined by Miss Baird's watch. This meant a long trick, but it was unavoidable. The three natives had been standing easy most of the day, while Peter had had no sound sleep for nearly thirty hours.
"I am not going to sleep in that tent, Mr. Mostyn," declared Olive, with an air of finality, speaking in a low voice. "I'd much rather curl up on the bottom-boards. It's not nearly so stuffy."